


Secret of the Wolves.

by TheHungryStark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8789929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHungryStark/pseuds/TheHungryStark
Summary: When accusations are leveled against Lord Eddard Stark concerning the parentage of his bastard, Jon Snow, Westeros finds itself heading to war.





	1. Chapter 1

Ser Barristan Selmy took his seat at the Small Council. King Robert Baratheon was sitting at the head of it. Behind him, standing erect, was Ser Meryn Trant. Fury was building in him, Barristan could tell that much. A letter was crushed in his fist. When the King briefly glared at him, Ser Barristan couldn't help but shrink away. He had some unspoken accusation, but wouldn't say what it was. Ser Barristan knew it was for him. _What have I done,_ he wondered, _to earn his wrath?_ Ser Barristan had been loyal to Robert ever since the Trident, thirteen years ago. _Does he think me of holding some loyalty for Viserys?_ Barristan's memories of the boy were hazy, but once the thought of him entered his head, it all became clear. _He is only like this when it comes to the Targaryens._ What could have happened now?

Ser Barristan turned to each of the other members of the Small Council that were currently present. Stannis was sitting next to Robert and Ser Barristan, his jaw clenched, his fists curled. He met Barristan's gaze for a moment, then his hard, steely gaze locked back on Robert. The King's middle brother was not someone Barristan took to be worried easily, yet he had concern in his eyes. Varys seemed as impassive as ever, sitting across from yet the unease that was Robert's mood even had him on edge. Ser Barristan could see the faint signs of stress and confusion in his brow and eyes. Petyr Baelish was seated next to Varys, his eyes darting around, as if searching for some assassin's dagger. On Varys's other hand was Jon Arryn, was maintaining a facade of steel, but his eyes were full of worry as he gazed at Robert. Grand Maester Pycelle was occupying the seat on Ser Barristan's right. The old man was also uncomfortable, stroking his white beard. Nobody spoke.

The door opened, and Renly Baratheon finally arrived. The master of laws had a smile on his face, which quickly disappeared when he saw Robert. Renly hastily took a seat next to Littlefinger, putting his elbows on the table as he leaned in.

With the Small Council assembled, Robert cleared his throat as he spoke. "Jon Arryn," Robert began, turning to his Hand, "read this letter out to the small council." The king slammed the letter out before his Hand. He had practically spat the words out at the mention of the letter, like so much as uttering them was an affront and a feeling of betrayal laced each word. Ser Barristan braced himself.

When Ser Barristan got a good look at the letter, he saw it was worn, with brown stains covering parts of it, and torn around the edges. As Jon Arryn moved eyes across the letter, he paled, and his mouth slowly parted. The king slammed his fist on the table, startling the Hand. "Read it!" Robert commanded, his voice that of a battlefield commander. Ser Barristan pitied the old man as he cleared his throat, and began to speak.

_"For my own sake, my heroic and noble king, I must not reveal to you my identity, for if this letter should be discovered before it should reach His Grace, I would die, and you would not know this terrible truth. After years of secrecy, I can no longer commit this treason, and must speak out. Your dear friend, Lord Eddard Stark, has committed a most terrible treason. Jon Snow, his bastard, is not who you have been lead to believe. He is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, conceived by rape while Lyanna was forcibly married to Rhaegar. I listened as the poor girl screamed and fought, being forced to submit to the last dragon's lust and whims. In the end, she was a broken child, crying out for her one true love, His Grace Robert Baratheon. Alas, she was forced to bare the last dragon's seed, and taught through rape and beatings that if she bared this child, she would be set free. One of Rhaegar's many lies. It saddened my heart that she took joy in looking forward to the birth of the child. She even made Eddard Stark promise to protect the child, delirious and mad with a fever. I was forced to swear to keep it a secret. But the memory of her cries haunts my dreams. How I have longed for the day when that vile dragonspawn could be slain, King Robert. Only then could fair Lyanna rest in peace."_

Once Jon Arryn finished, silence filled the chambers. Barristan had listened with growing shock. His eyes rested on the scrape of paper. Never, in a thousand years, would the Rhaegar he knew have done something like this. Rhaegar had loved his Lady Lyanna. She hadn't been some bed whore for his amusement. If he ever found out who had written this pack of lies...

Robert was the first to react. He slammed his fist onto the table with a resounding crash. "I'LL FUCKING CRUSH THAT RAPE CHILD'S HEAD IN!"

Ser Barristan started briefly before composing himself. He had to speak carefully if he was to get through to Robert. "My liege, how can you believe this? This could be a lie for all we know, sent by our enemies to create division and sow mistrust." _And they have already succeeded._ Robert sharply turned to the Lord Commander, and seemed ready to strike him on the spot. Kill him even. He began to open his mouth.

Jon Arryn stepped in, preventing his foster son from uttering a word. "Ser Barristan speaks the truth. All we have for proof is this letter. Surely Ned wouldn't keep this from you?"

Robert paused, hurt at the mention of his foster brother. He turned to Jon. "But what if it is true, damn it all! If that fucking bastard is really Rhaegar's son..."

"How can we be sure?" Petyr Baelish cut in. He seemed to be far off, gazing at some unknown place. "This is rather hard to believe."

"Perhaps Lord Stark feared for the child's life," Varys entwined "Had it been known that he is Rhaegar's trueborn son, then the only real course of action would be to take the life of newborn babe."

Robert stared at each and every man seated at the table. "So what would you have me do? I can't just let this be! I always knew Rhaegar raped her! Now I find out he got a child on her! He forced her to marry him, raped her and got her pregnant with a...a fucking _dragonspawn!_ He treated like she was cattle! A breeding mare! I should have torn his cock off!"

Ser Barristan couldn't bare to listen to Robert slander the dead prince. Steeling himself, he almost gave voice to his thoughts. _Rhaegar Targaryen was a better man than you, and would have never done something like this!_

Maester Pycelle started to speak now. "These are mere rumours, your Grace! Without substance. How can you be sure that Rhaegar truly did force Lady Stark to marry him."

Robert wheeled on the maester, towering over him, glowering with rage. "RHAEGAR TARGARYEN RAPED LYANNA STARK! MY BETROTHED! MY BELOVED! WHO ARE YOU TO TELL ME OTHERWISE? HE WAS A COWARDLY, DEVIOUS BASTARD, JUST LIKE HIS FATHER!" Robert actually did move to strike him until Stannis stood up, giving Robert a hard glare.

"Control yourself Robert! You are the king! Act like it!" The two brothers locked eyes, staring each other down. Grand Maester Pycelle ponderously began to speak.

"My lords, my king, please, sit down, I beg you! Surely, this matter can be settled without the need for violence?"

Robert's glare shifted to Pycelle, sheathing with a burning and fiery passion which belonged on the Trident. "Shut your fucking mouth, old man! There is a perfectly good need for violence! You heard it yourself. Lyanna can only rest if the bastard is dead! The whole thing is right there! You all heard it!"

"But who sent the letter?" Jon Arryn asked, rising from his chair as well now. "Tell me how you came by this, Robert."

Robert didn't wait a single moment in telling them where he had gotten it. "I found it on my bed. It laying there, all proper. I didn't think of reading it until I caught a glimpse of what was written. When I did..."

"Come now, Robert," Renly intoned, "Cersei, Tyrion, some servant, anyone could have left that letter for you. Perhaps even Lord Eunuch here."

Varys raised an eyebrow at Renly. The accusation caused Robert's fury to turn on the spider. Varys quickly spoke up to defend himself. "Certainly not. If I had such an important matter for the king as this, I would have brought it directly to him, not left it lying upon the king's bed. And besides, I myself am curious as to discover who wrote it. It must be someone who harbors a grudge against both the Starks and Baratheons."

"There," Jon Arryn said, satisfied, "this is probably an attempt by someone to drive a wedge between you and Ned. A very poor lie."

"But what if it's true?" Robert's voice had grief creeping into it now. "Is Ned really caring for the rape child of his own sister? What if the boy does become another monster, like Aerys? What if he rises up against me? The bloody dragon lovers would come out of hiding to help, damn it all!"

Robert was not going to be dissuaded from this, Ser Barristan could see that much. He began to silently pray to the Seven for divine intervention.

Jon Arryn smiled triumphantly. "You answer your own question. It is Ned Stark who cares for this supposed rape child. He would never allow for a child to grow up a monster under his watch. You can trust him about this Robert. The boy will probably be encouraged to take the black. And besides, there is so little evidence that the bastard is indeed Rhaegar's child."

This seemed to actually sway Robert briefly. But that Baratheon fury was strong. "But what if this is true?"

Silence once more invaded. Jon Arryn pursed his lips as he tried to think of an answer. Varys watched the king with astute eyes, keeping them focused on him. Petyr Baelish had a hand over his mouth, deep in thought. Grand Maester Pycelle breathed out loudly. All of men present knew what would happen if this accusation turned out to be true. If there was indeed an heir to the throne who Robert believed was the product of Lyanna's rape, and was family to Lord Eddard Stark, a man known for valuing the lives of his family above those of others, then it could easily lead to something no one wanted.

_War. And no power on this Earth could convince Robert otherwise._

"There is only one way to get to the bottom of this matter," Stannis Baratheon spoke in iron tones. "Lord Stark has been accused of harboring an heir to the Targaryen dynasty. We must investigate, and determine the truth."

"How?" asked Petyr Baelish. "Do we send Ser Barristan here to Winterfell, and have the boy's head cut off." Ser Barristan gave Littlefinger a hard glare. The master of coin smiled at him, a laughing twinkle in his eyes.

"No," Robert's voice was firm, and full of scorn. The unspoken reason why was blatant. _Because I fought for my prince. Because Robert suspects me of being disloyal.  
_

Stannis gave Ser Barristan a thoughtful look before turning back to Robert. The king continued to speak. "Renly, I want you to go to Winterfell. Take two knights of the Kingsguard with you, as well as a hundred men. Meet with Lord Eddard Stark, and show him," he gestured to the letter, gazing at it like it was a diseased rat, "this damned thing. Write immediately if you learn anything. Understand?"

Renly stared at his elder brother his shock for a moment, then smiled and nodded. "Of course, dear brother. I am sure I can resolve this matter, and prove it to be nothing but lies."

Robert nodded in approval, and then waved his hands to dismiss the small council. As Ser Barristan left the room, he found himself walking to the White Sword Tower. Thoughts were running through his head. _Rhaegar has_ _a living son._

Ser Barristan found the uppermost floor empty. Good. He needed some time to think. After taking a seat, he sighed, and leaned back in the chair. His thoughts were all a jumble of memories. Of seeing Rhaegar give Lyanna a crown of winter roses. Learning she had been the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Their wedding at the God's Eye...

"I thought I might find you here." The voice of Stannis Baratheon was unmistakable. Ser Barristan turned to see the man standing in the doorway. He hadn't even heard him approach.

"I've never seen Robert this bad, and over a letter of all things?" Ser Barristan told Stannis. "Who knows what he would have done to the Maester?"

Stannis waved it off as he entered. "Robert can't let some letter with no basis in truth cloud his judgement." Then he sighed. "But his judgement has always been clouded when it came to Rhaegar and Lyanna. The whole Targaryen family for that matter."

Ser Barristan nodded. "Aye. But this...this is probably the worst he's ever been."

"And all because of this damned letter," Stannis growled, clenching his fist. "Whoever concocted this tale will pay dearly. I would like to know where they got the idea that Lyanna was pregnant."

Ser Barristan hesitated. He hoped that Stannis wouldn't notice, but he did, damn him. The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Tell me, Ser Barristan," Stannis said slowly. "You knew Rhaegar. Did he ever tell you of Lyanna for the brief period he was still alive during the Rebellion?"

Ser Barristan sighed. "Rhaegar and Lyanna loved each other..." He paused. Stannis leaned forward, taking interest. The Lord Commander cleared his throat before continuing. "And were indeed married. And Rhaegar told me before the Trident...that when he had left Lyanna..." Ser Barristan couldn't say the rest. But Stannis's gaze bore into him. Eventually, he relented. "That Lyanna was indeed pregnant."

The words hung in the air. Stannis had his mouth open in shock. He shook his head as he spoke. "By all the gods man," he said quietly, "and you did not think to tell anyone this for thirteen years?"

"For thirteen years, only Robert felt that Rhaegar had raped Lyanna. But hearing the contents of that scrap of paper...the accusations...I can no longer hold my tongue. I thought perhaps the child had died with Lyanna, but I have often wondered-"

Stannis slammed his hand onto the table. He stared down at Ser Barristan with anger. "Wonder no more. The mystery has been solved, damn you!" Ser Barristan meet Stannis's gaze with determination. He had come to the same conclusion he knew Stannis had arrived at. All the pieces fit together so clearly. Lyanna's pregnancy, Ned Stark's bastard, the letter...

Jon Snow was could very well be Rhaegar's trueborn son.

Ser Barristan put a hand on his sword. Stannis darted his eyes to it, and then looked back at Ser Barristan. The tension between the two was like Balerion the Black Dread had come again. The Lord of Dragonstone and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stared each down. _Can I trust you?_ Those were his thoughts for Robert's stern and loyal younger brother.

Stannis breathed out, hoarse and irritated. "Do not fear, I'll keep this a secret. If Robert learns of Lyanna's pregnancy, and now of all times, after...Ned Stark wouldn't give the boy up easily. Not without a fight."

Ser Barristan was surprised when he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in. He hadn't been sure of what the middle Baratheon brother would do if Barristan had told him this secret.

"I'll send one of my men with Renly to Winterfell, to keep an eye on things. He'll report back to me about this. Now, I shall have to give the man a message for Lord Stark. Let us hope he'll will listen to common sense."

"He has been for thirteen years," Ser Barristan said hopefully. That Lord Stark had taken the boy as his bastard and raised him with his own trueborn children was proof of that. Yet, part of him still worried. The boy was most likely Rhaegar's son. Ser Barristan could not allow for another of Rhaegar's children to die. Not again.

Stannis just grimly stared ahead at some unknown point. "Aye," He said firmly. The man sighed heavily, and turned to leave. He stopped. "Ser Barristan," he said slowly, "thank you for your time." Stannis kept his back to him. For Ser Barristan, it was a sign he had lost the man's trust. He had always been seen as a paragon of honor and virtue, everything a knight should be, but having kept a secret such as this from the Usurper, how could he blame Stannis?

"What shall happen to the boy?" Ser Barristan asked. Stannis turned back to him. He regarded him wearily still.

"He'll have to take the black, Ser Barristan. Any birthright he may have had is irrelevant. My brother is king," he paused, like he had more to say, but closed his mouth. Something was troubling him, and it wasn't the letter. Barristan had an idea of what it could be.

Ser Barristan knew who the real father of Cersei's children was. He had seen how Jaime Lannister was around them and his sister, the queen. Already, Joffrey reminded Ser Barristan of Aerys. The Kingslayer dishonored his cloak beyond simple oath breaking. He wondered if that might be what was troubling Stannis.

"What should happen if word of this spreads beyond the capital?" Ser Barristan asked.

Stannis scoffed. "We'll keep this quiet for now. Doubtless, there will be rumors, but they can be dismissed as rumors."

Without another word, Stannis Baratheon left the White Sword Tower, leaving Ser Barristan to himself. The white knight stood up, and searched for the ancient tome of the Kingsguard. Once he got it, he started to read. He tried to read the entries of Corlys Velaryon, Robin Darklyn, Ser Duncan the Tall. But in the end, he couldn't stop reading about Criston Cole.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Winterfell

Bran Stark was running, his feet pattering across hard, stone floor. He was breathing hard, and almost tripped once or twice. But he caught himself, and continued running. Father, Robb, Jon and Theon were back.

Father had taken them to witness another beheading. Bran knew the day was fast approaching when he would be taken to see one. He was afraid of it. He had once heard Jon and Robb speak of the first time they had been taken to see their father kill a man, near two . Bran had just sat, fascinated, soaking up every word until Robb had caught him listening, and sent him off. Bran had tried to protest, but his brother was having none of it. He had pleaded with Jon, but his half-brother had only smiled and shook his head. "This isn't something you should listen to," he had explained. Bran had sulked as he was sent off. Old Nan had told him stories of the Long Night later before he went to sleep, but he would have much rather heard about the execution.

Now, they were coming back, and Bran wanted to greet them so badly. He wanted to hear all about it. How bravely the man had been when he faced death. By the time he reached the courtyard, he was breathless. There was his father, Eddard Stark, dismounting from his horse. The party he had taken was in the process of doing so. Harwin was busy getting their steeds into the stables, making sure that every available stable boy was lending a helping hand. Bran, however, was more focused on finding his brothers.

He finally spotted Robb dismounting, and immediately ran over, calling his name. He had caught his breath enough for a short sprint. When Bran was a few steps away, Robb turned to him. He was holding something in his arms which began squirming. Bran stopped when he saw it. It was small, and covered in fur, whimpering. Robb smiled, and gestured Bran closer. The young Stark took slow, even steps forward, curious and wonder struck. When he was close enough Robb bent down so he was, offering Bran the small animal. "What is that?" Bran asked, then felt foolish as he took it into his arms. Anyone could see it was a wolf pup. It had grey fur, and it's eyes were closed shut. It couldn't have been very old.

Robb's eyes twinkled. "It's a direwolf," he told his brother. Bran gazed down at the pup in his arms, now excited and awestruck.

"Are they any more?" Bran asked as the pup curled up to him. A snort from behind him drew his attention. He turned to see Theon Greyjoy coming forward, awkwardly holding yet another direwolf pup. The front of his riding pants were slightly damp.

"Aye," he grumbled, speaking quickly, "six. Three males, two females, and an albino." He handed his pup to Robb awkwardly. Robb took it with great care, being as gentle as he could. The pup whimpered, squirming, but settled once it was firmly in Robb's hands. Theon didn't waste another word as he stalked off quickly. Bran stared after him. There seemed to be a large, faded stain covering one of boots, and an awful but faint smell was coming from it.

"What's wrong with Theon?" Bran asked, confused as he turned back to his brother. Robb laughed lightly.

"Do you want to know how we found them? The pups?" Robb asked. Bran nodded eagerly. "Jon and I were racing ahead of everyone else on the way back from the beheading. We were passing by a stream when I heard whimpering. I stopped, and so did Jon. He wanted to know what was wrong. I told him to shut up and listen, and followed the sound, and found a direwolf. She was dead, but I saw something moving. It was a litter of five pups. Jon went off and got the others, and we showed father. Some of the men, Theon among them, wanted to kill the pups. They said they would die without their mother, and father agreed with them. I argued against it. The direwolf is the sigil of our house, Bran. It would have been wrong to kill them."

"But then Jon pointed out that there were five direwolf pups. One for each of the Stark children," Robb paused, and cast a sidelong glance. Bran followed it, and saw Jon Snow, his bastard half-brother. He had what must be the smallest of the direwolf pups, a white one with red eyes. _The albino,_ Bran realised. "But none for the Snow," Robb said softly. His voice had the tiniest hint of sadness. Bran understood why Robb was sad. Jon had left himself out.

But then he became confused. "But Robb, Jon has a direwolf. A white one. There are enough." Robb turned back to his brother, still cradling the grey pup. He chuckled.

"As we were leaving, Jon found that one. An albino for a bastard," he explained. Robb was smiling now. Bran also smiled, overjoyed that his half-brother should have a direwolf. But something else was nagging at him.

"But Robb," Bran said, "what's wrong with Theon?"

At that moment, Jon finally came over. "You haven't told him that yet Robb?" he asked, the white direwolf staring around with bright red eyes. They locked onto Bran, and the two stared at one another, before the pup looked away. Bran found it strange that it's eyes should be open, and not any of the other pups.

"I was going to," Robb said. "Though I suppose you should tell Bran that bit, seeing as you were actually there for it."

"Aye," Jon said, smiling mischievously, before he turned to Bran. "We were walking back to the horses when Theon stepped in the carcass of a stag. The direwolf who birthed these pups must have killed it. She was covered in wounds from the battle, and the stag's back was shredded. I actually found this one right next to it's body." He held up the albino pup. "Gods, the smell was awful. Theon stepped right into it's stomach, and it burst open. He had to wash off in the stream. Might even have to throw his boots away." Both Robb and Jon laughed. Bran joined in as well, imagining what Theon must have felt like.

"C'mon," Jon told his younger brother, "let's get the pups inside."

Robb stood up, and Bran followed his two brothers as they headed for the warm interior of Winterfell. Bran's mother appeared at that moment. She was about to greet then when she saw the pups. "Gods," she said, eyes wide, "where did you get these?"

"Direwolves, mother!" Bran said quickly, smiling, "Jon and Robb found them. There's six of them, one for all of us!"

Catelyn Stark's inhaled a sharp breath, surprised. She quickly recovered however. "Where is your father? Did he allow you to keep these beasts?" she asked.

"Aye," said a voice Bran should have expected, but was still surprised to hear. He turned around to see his father, Eddard Stark, coming towards them. He was carrying Ice in its sheath. He looked down to stare at Bran. Bran wasn't sure what his father was thinking, but he seemed thoughtful. Out of the corner of his eye, Bran saw his mother's face grow tense as she stared at Jon's pup. His mother had no love for his bastard half-brother. It hurt Bran whenever he saw her mistreat him. He loved Jon just much as he did his trueborn siblings, but his mother just could never bring herself to feel anything but contempt for Jon.

He returned his attention back to his father when he heard him. He had the face he used whenever he was speaking as Ned Stark, his father, and not the Lord of Winterfell. "It is good to see you, Bran. I see you've gotten yourself one of these beasts," Ned Stark told him, "so I shall tell you what I told your brothers. These are not dogs. They are direwolves. Mistreat him, and he will tear your arm off. The servants will want nothing to do with this beast. You must train him, feed him, and care for him yourself. And if it dies, you must bury it yourself. Do you understand?"

Bran wasn't sure if he could manage all that. He didn't know the first thing about how he was supposed to feed the pup, let alone train him. He turned to his brothers, hoping for some moral support. Robb gave him a wink, while Jon just stood stock still. But there was a faint glimmer in his eyes. Bran smiled, and turned back to his father. "Yes, father," he said, protectively clutching the pup tighter. The small bundle yelped, startling Bran. Jon and Robb couldn't help but laugh.

"Very well," father said to Bran, smiling slightly, "Robb, Jon, get some men and take the pups to the kitchens. I shall be in the godswood. My Lady," father turned to mother, "you may come and get me if anything should arise that requires my attention." With that, father started to leave. Bran and his brothers watched him go, as did Catelyn Stark.

She turned to her children and Jon. She gave him a short, hard glancing stare before speaking. "You all heard your lord father. Get the pups to the kitchens. I shall get Rickon and the girls."

* * *

The pups had been placed on a small makeshift bed of rags on the table, nestling against each other for warmth. Bran was watching them admiringly. Most of the pups had grey fur, except for Jon's albino and a black one. He had heard stories of direwolves from Old Nan. Vicious beasts which had once ran throughout the North, wild and free. They grew to monstrous sizes, and there were stories of them fighting alongside the old Kings of Winter. When mother had brought Rickon and the girls to the kitchens, Arya had gasped with delight, and immediately ran over. Sansa had followed instantly, pushing Arya aside. She gently ran her over their soft fur. "Oh," she said softly, "oh, they're beautiful!" She gently lifted one of the females off the rags, and held it lovingly.

Arya reached over, and picked one up. Bran saw it was a girl. She held the pup up to her face, smiling at it. "This one's mine!" She said proudly. She tucked the pup into her arm, making it comfortable. The pup yawned, and laid its head against it, breathing in content. Arya stroked her back, nodding. "I have the perfect name for her!" she declared. Sansa looked at her younger sister.

"Truly? Go on, tell us!" she asked giddy with excitement as she picked up her own pup. Bran caught the small tease in her voice.

"Nymeria!" Arya declared proudly. Sansa's face took on a look of complete horror. Bran couldn't help but smile. His oldest sister looked completely ridiculous.

"Arya! That's a horrible name!" Sansa sounded completely scandalized, while Jon and Robb laughed. Mother hand was trying to conceal a smile, while Rickon was staring around at everyone.

Arya replied to Sansa's comments immediately. "No it's not! It's the name of the warrior queen who lead the Rhoynar to Westeros and united all of Dorne! How is it horrible? It's better than anything you can come up with!"

"But Nymeria was a witch, Arya! She was completely horrible! You should have named your pup after a proper lady, like Jonquil or Jenny or Narys! They were all proper highborn ladies!" Then she brightened, and smiled in triumph, beaming. "And I do have a better name!" She looked down at her pup, stroking her back. "Lady. Yes, she'll be a fine, proper lady."

Arya snorted in disgust. "That's a horrid name for a direwolf! They're fearsome beasts, Sansa, not pampered dogs!"The two began arguing over who had the better name when Mother intervened.

"Girls, stop this! They are both fine names!" She moved to them, setting Rickon down as she did, trying to act as the peacemaker between her daughters. Bran wasn't sure if his mother would be able to make them stop arguing. Rickon, meanwhile, was just staring at his sisters, alarmed. Jon and Robb were both laughing at the girls' childish argument.

Bran walked over, and showed Rickon the grey pup sleeping in his arms. Rickon gave it a queer look of fascination and fear. "This my pup, Rickon," he told his younger brother. "Go ahead. You can touch him."

Bran took Rickon's hand, and gently put it on the pup's soft back. Rickon quickly withdrew it, his face blank, but eyes wide with fear. "It's okay, Rickon," Bran told him, taking his hand. He began to lead his little brother over to the bed where the black pup was. "There's one for you as well."

Bran made sure to avoid his mother and sisters as he bought Rickon up to the table. He pushed a chair up, and tried to help his little brother onto it. It was tedious trying to help the youngest Stark onto the chair while Bran was holding his own pup. "Here, Bran," he heard Robb say, the sound of boots stamping lightly onto the floor clear. He turned to see his eldest brother coming over. Robb reached down with his free arm, and used it to grab Rickon, pulling him up onto the chair. Robb then pointed at the black pup. "See that, little brother?" Robb reached over, picked up the pup, and held it so that it was directly in front of Rickon. "This is yours, Rickon," he told him. "Do you want to hold him?"

Rickon stared wide eyed at the pup. He looked first at Robb, then at Bran, then back to the pup. still wasn't too sure, but he tentatively held out his arms. Robb gently put the black furred bundle into them, helping Rickon to hold it properly. Rickon was nervous for a bit, but started to settle down, sitting onto the chair. The pup squirmed, and pressed it's muzzle against his face, licking his cheek brief. Rickon giggled.

"What are you going to name him?" Bran asked. Rickon glanced at Bran, then at his pup, and spoke.

"Shaggydog!"

Bran saw Robb blink, surprised, and then laughed. This was followed by the sound of Sansa and Arya laughing as well. Bran hadn't realised they had stopped fighting until he had just heard them. Rickon turned to his older brother, frowning. "What's wrong?" he asked, "Isn't it a good name?"

"Oh, Rickon, it's a wonderful name," Sansa said, stifling her laughter. She stepped closer, bending down next to him. "I'm sure he'll grow up to be big and strong, just like you."

Rickon beamed after that, smiling wide before turning to Bran. He pointed at the pup he was holding. "What's his name?"

Bran furrowed his brows as he tried to think. "I don't know what I should call him yet," he admitted. He looked over to Robb. "Do you have any ideas, Robb?"

Robb had a thoughtful expression on his face for a moment. Then he answered, using a voice that sounded like their lord father's. "It's your pup, Bran. You should name him," he declared.

Bran frowned, before sighing. "Okay," he said, looking to his pup. _Sorry I don't have a name for you._ He looked up at Robb. "What will you name yours?"

Robb answered immediately. "His name is Grey Wind," he stated, beaming with pride at the young pup, "and he'll grow up to be big and strong, just like all these pups." Then he looked over. Bran followed his gaze to see Jon, standing in the corner. His pup was staring with bright red eyes, watching everything. "And that just leaves you Jon," Robb said to his bastard half brother. "Got a name for yours?"

Jon nodded. "Ghost," he said. Bran thought the name was very fitting for the white direwolf pup.

"Very good names," mother's voice said quickly, a bit stern, "all of you." Bran turned to see his mother's face, slightly rigid. He was about to speak about not having come up with a name when she continued. "Bran, I am sure you will think of something soon enough."

Bran felt his pup whimper, and realised something. "Shouldn't we feed them?"

Sansa perked at that. "Quite right, Bran. I'm sure these little things are starving. Robb, do we have any milk?"

Robb nodded. "I've already sent servants to get some. They should be here soon."

"Lady Stark," a voice said. Bran turned to see it was maester Luwin. He was holding an unopened letter in his hand. His voice sounded slightly urgent. Mother walked over to him, and took the letter. "It is for Lord Stark," Bran heard the maester say, before they started to speak in hushed whispers. Bran tried to listen in, but he could not pick up a single word. Finally, mother turned back to them. "I shall have to see your father," she told them all, her voice commanding and stern, "ensure that these pups are properly fed." With that, she left, with the maester following behind her.

Bran felt something had changed. But he wasn't sure what. He wanted to ask Bran, but his pup's whining and nipping made him realise that he was probably hungry. So, he took it upon himself to feed him. When the servants arrived with milk, Robb and Sansa got some clothes and soaked them in it, handing them out. Bran took one, and carefully placed it in the pup's mouth, letting it feed. Bran looked around as his siblings feed their pups, Sansa helping Rickon feed his, and smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three everyone. And I feel so under pressure writing these.

Lord Eddard Stark was kneeling before the weirwood. His head was bowed in concentration as he cleaned his sword. The blood washed off the Valyrian steel of Ice, the ancestral blade of the Starks. He thought back to the direwolf pups. It was an omen, he was sure of it. The men had been weary of the beasts, and Ned couldn't blame them for it. Direwolves south of the Wall? Ned shook his head, still in disbelief. That they had been found so close to a dead stag only added to his worry.

"Lord Stark!" Ned turned around when he heard the voice of maester Luwin. His wife and the maester were coming towards him. Maester Luwin had a letter in his hand. He stood up, making sure his sword was free of bloodstains. Once he was done, he sheathed his sword, and began walking over to them. He spoke up when they met. "What is it?" he asked, hands clasped in front of him. The maesters held out the letter. Ned took it, and checked the seal. The wax sigil was that of the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn. It was addressed for him. Curious, Ned cracked the seal, and unrolled the letter.

_Lord Eddard Stark,_

_I write to inform you that a malicious and most certainly untrue accusation has been made against you, concerning the parentage of your baseborn son, Jon Snow. His Grace, King Robert Baratheon, came into possession of a letter from an anonymous source, claiming that Jon Snow is the product of rape during Lyanna Stark's forced marriage to Rhaegar Targaryen. The letter goes on to claim that its writer was present during Lyanna's captivity, and was made to bear the child against her will, and was driven mad. It goes on to claim that Lyanna made you promise to care for the child due to this madness. While I know such rumors to be without cause or proof, Robert is in a rage the likes of which I have never seen. I have done all I can to control him, but he I fear it may not be enough. Indeed, he and Ser Barristan almost came to blows when he had me read the letter to the small council. I was able to persuade Robert not to have Ser Barristan killed, convincing him it would raise far too many questions. He is sending Renly with a hundred men to Winterfell, on the pretext of arranging a marriage between your eldest daughter and Prince Joffrey, but in truth, he wants to bring your bastard back to King's Landing. I know that these rumors of your son are nothing more than slander, made to drive a wedge between the Houses of Stark and Baratheon. I will find whoever it was who came up with the notion to create such lies, and make them pay dearly for it._

_Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn_

Ned felt his throat grow numb. Horror, dread and fear mounted within him with every word he saw. He could hear the sound of steel clashing with steel, men screaming as they died, and Lyanna calling for him. A babe's cries as his mother passed from this world. The scent of winter roses. Howland Reed asking the babe's name, and Ned giving it as Jon Snow. When he finished, he felt his arm go limp by his side, clutching the scrap of paper tightly in his fist, crumpling it. He stared off blankly into space, mind reeling. How? How could this have happened? Who could have done this? Who has betrayed me? Certainly not Howland Reed. The man was one of his closest friends. Benjen was still at the Wall. He had no way of doing this, and would never put Lyanna's boy in danger. Which only left...

"Ned?" His wife's voice called him back to the real world. Her voice sounded near hoarse. He recovered, and looked at his wife. She was confused and worried, and when he looked to maester Luwin, he saw the same expression. He blinked once, then again, before composing himself.

"Maester Luwin, send a raven to Greywater Watch, and summon Howland Reed. Tell him that he must come as soon as possible," he ordered the maester, The maester was a bit surprised at first, but nodded and walked away, heading for the maester's turret. He turned to Cat, and addressed her "My lady, If you need me, I shall be in the crypts. I wish to be alone for now." Without another word, he left her, heading for the aforementioned crypts. He barely even realised he had arrived when he found himself in front of his family's tomb. He had ignored tradition when he had them all buried in the crypts of Winterfell.

There was the statue of Lord Rickard Stark, his father, a direwolf curled at his feet. His southern ambitions had dragged the Starks into the troubles of the south, but Ned could not find fault with the man. He wondered what he would have done if he had learned about Rhaegar and Lyanna's marriage, of his grandson who bore royal blood? What would he do?

His father would tried to have the boy sent to the Wall, and if that was not enough, he would have called the banners.

His brother, Brandon, who should be the Lord of Winterfell, flanked him, a rusted sword across his lap, like that of his father. Wolf-blooded Brandon, who would have been a far better lord than Ned would ever be. He thought of the days when they would spare together as children, of the sores and welts he received after each and every bout. Ned had always looked up to his older brother. What would he do?

Brandon would have taken up his sword and buried it in Robert's stomach before he let him lay hands on his nephew.

Then Ned turn to Lyanna's statue. His sister had a crown of winter roses on her brow. The man who had made the statue had failed to capture her beauty, her fierce and willful nature, the iron Robert had never seen. He had held her hand as she died, pleading with him to keep her son safe. She had whispered her son's name to him, Jaehaerys Targaryen, and made him promise to protect him from a man he considered a brother. Her words haunted him to this day. Ned didn't have to wonder what lengths Lyanna would have gone to protect her son.

Ned had named the boy Jon Snow, and taken him as his bastard son, sacrificing his honor for his family. He had borne that secret for thirteen years, raised his nephew with his own children, loved him like a son. And now, Robert had finally discovered the truth. His eyes felt wet, and he lifted his hand to them, wiping away tears. "I'm sorry, Lyanna," he said softly, voice breaking, "I've failed you. I promised to keep him safe, but I haven't."

Ned didn't know how long he was down there for, but when Cat came to get her, she was stunned. Ned didn't know how hard he had been crying until she remarked upon how red his eyes were. He didn't say anything to her about, and instead made sure he was presentable for dinner. They both went to their quarters, where Catelyn helped Ned get ready. He felt so sluggish, so tired, as if the burden had finally been lifted from his shoulders, and all the effort caught up with him.

Dinner was a drear event. Ned could only think of how to deal with this crisis. He could never live with himself if he gave up his sister's son, but not doing so would be denying the crown, an act of defiance against his best friend, Robert Baratheon. The two had been raised together by Jon Arryn, who was now Hand of the King. Jon would not forsake Robert easily. He could try all he wanted to convince Robert to leave Jon be, but Ned knew the kind of man Robert was. He wouldn't be satisfied until every single Targaryen was dead. And that would include Jon.

The next few days passed by, Ned not even bothering to notice. The staff and household of Winterfell could tell something was weighing him down. He guarded his feelings, his face even more grim than usual. He spent time with his staff, going over everything twice. He had maester Luwin prepare summons for each of his bannermen, not telling him why. He had the stores checked, had the men drilled a few times more than usual, left nothing untouched. When Cat asked him about it, he said nothing. He dare not tell her the truth. Not yet.

When Howland Reed did arrive, he did so with a handful of men, armed with the weapons of a crannogman. They had frog spears, and were all short in stature, dressed in clothes which were clearly traditionally among them, a swampy green. Ned had received word of their coming, and had prepared to welcome his old friend. His family was with him as he watched the Lord of Greywater Watch enter. Howland Reed's eyes were a deep green, and he had grown a beard since he had last seen him. Ned walked forward, and embraced him. "Lord Reed," he said, "it is good of you to have come."

"Aye," Howland answered. Ned noticed two young children approach behind him. A girl, roughly Jon and Robb's age, and a boy, who he guessed as being the same age as Brandon. The boy was the spitting image of the Howland he remembered. Howland gestured behind him, seeming to have anticipated that Ned would notice. "My children, Meera and Jojen Reed." The children bowed in turn before Ned. Ned acknowledged them both, before presenting his own children. The direwolf pups were at their sides. Howland briefly looked over each, exchanging courtesies with Cat. Sansa behaved a proper young lady, but Ned could sense her unease. She probably wasn't sure what to make of these crannogmen. Arya was fascinated to see Meera carrying her frog spear. She stared at it for longer than Ned would have liked. Meera most certainly saw her staring.

Jojen seemed to linger on Bran, something Ned could not help but notice. There was a wisdom in that boy's eyes, something Ned felt both intrigued and wary of. Bran just returned the stare, a bit confused. His direwolf pup watched Jojen with keen interest. The little beasts were getting bigger everyday now, and were now large enough to run around with their masters. Ned was amazed at how fast they were growing.

With the others, it was simply polite courtesies. Howland and his children exchanged greetings with each member of Ned's family in a proper manner. However, when it came to Jon, Howland studied him intently for a small few seconds, and acknowledged him. Jon was a bit taken aback, but still was able to return the greeting.

Once this was concluded, Ned announced that he and Howland would be retiring to his solar. Cat lead the others to the Great Hall. He had had the cooks prepare a fine feast for the crannogmen.

Once he and Howland were in his solar, the Lord of Greywater Watch cut right to the chase. "What is the matter, Ned?" Howland asked.

"A raven came from King's Landing," Ned said as he retrieved the letter from it's hiding place. Despite trusting his household, he didn't dare allow for anyone to see the contents of the letter. He handed it to Howland. His friend moved his lips as he read the letter, eyes moving over it. When he finished, he locked eyes with Ned.

"Dark wings, dark words," Howland muttered. "How could this have come to pass?"

Ned shook his head. "I don't know. The only people alive who know of Jon's parentage are myself, you and Wylla."

"What of Wylla? Have you heard from her recently?" Howland inquired.

"No," Ned answered. "I do not believe she would ever tell a soul about Jon's mother."

"But she is the only one aside from us who knows the truth," Howland pointed out. He sighed bitterly as he turned his head to the side before turning back to Ned. "If it wasn't her, then who was it?"

"I do not know," Ned answered, "but we have more pressing matters. Robert wants Jon brought to King's Landing, Howland. We must find some way to prevent this."

"We cannot send him to the Wall," Howland said slowly, "nor can we simply refuse. If Jon is not present when Renly arrives, it could be seen as an admission of guilt."

"Aye," Ned agreed, "but I promised Lyanna I would keep him safe. If Robert is not convinced that he is my bastard, that he is indeed Rhaegar's son, he'll kill him."

"So how do we convince the King otherwise?" Howland replied, "We both saw Robert's wrath at the Trident. You were present when Tywin Lannister laid the corpses Rhaenys and Aegon before Robert. He may have already convinced himself that this is the truth."

"Jon doesn't have the Targaryen look," Ned pointed out, "how can Robert justify his killing? No one would believe him. It would seem he has been deceived by some spiteful and petty man."

"So? How far would a man be willing to go to win the king's favour? Tywin Lannister may dismiss it, but I cannot imagine the Queen ignoring this. You cannot trust Roose Bolton. And what of Dorne? What if they should learn of this?" Howland shook his head. "There are many who have reason to see house Stark fall. I would wager that someone made this later for that exact reason."

Ned himself had thought the same. That someone wished to see House Stark cast down into the dust. He could think of many who wished to see his family laid low, but none who could learn about Jon's heritage.

"So what should we do?" Ned asked, dreading the answer.

Howland's face became rather solemn as he answered. "We must try and convince Robert that Jon is indeed your son. If not...then we must push the boy's birthright."

"No," Ned said firmly. He would not see Jon end up sitting on the Iron Throne, surrounded by vipers.

"You know as well as I do that if the kingdom learns of this, there will also be many who wish to see Jon on the Iron Throne, Ned. Lickspittles and Targaryen loyalists, those who wish to see the Baratheons or Lannisters laid low," Howland said, meeting Ned's gaze. Ned clenched his fist. "Aye, we may succeed in keeping this a secret, but for how long? How exactly will you convince Robert Jon is your son?"

Ned thought about it. He began to feel like he was trapped in a cage, unable to move or do anything. "I'll think of something," Ned told Howland. "Jon looks like me. It shouldn't be hard."

"With Robert, how can you be sure?" Howland raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head to the side.

Ned sighed, and started to pace around the room. He leaned against a window, gazing outwards at nothing. He stayed silent for a few moments, thinking. How could he be sure Robert would believe him? He knew of how wrathful the man could be. Of what lengths he was willing to go to claim vengeance when it came to the Targaryens. "I haven't told Jon yet," Ned answered. "Nor Cat."

"You shall have to," Howland said in understanding. "Eventually, you must."

Ned nodded. "Aye," he told Howland. He thought about when he should do. How was he to break the news to them? Cat would have to know first before he told Jon. She had that right, at least. He knew Howland would be there to support him when the time he had never wanted to arrive did come.

"I'll tell Jon tonight." Ned firmly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a while to finish. Sorry. My older sister killed herself very recently, and I have been having some other things going on in my life.

Jon Snow took a good long drink of ale from the mug before him. Around him, he could hear the hall echoing with the sounds of merry making, as men from the Neck mingled with the household of Winterfell. Jon himself was seated among them, away from the Starks and Reeds. Lord Stark had given permission for the feast to begin, even though he was not present, having retreated with Howland Reed to his private study. Jon wasn't sure what they had to talk about. Jon had heard tell that the two men were close friends, having fought side by side in the Rebellion. They were also the only two men who had come back from the Tower of Joy alive. Father rarely spoke of it, but Jon had heard the servant's whispers. The story was that father had taken eight highborn companions to rescue Lyanna Stark, only to find three members of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswell Whent. In the ensuing battle Eddard Stark had bested Ser Arthur Dayne, but aunt Lyanna had died. At least, those were the stories.

He didn't know what to make of the crannogmen. He found them an odd group of people. They dressed strangely, all in green and with scales, and carried weapons he was unfamiliar with. Frog spears and blow darts were of particular interest to him. From what he had heard, crannogmen coated their weapons in lethal toxins. The stories of what those poisons did to a man were not for the weak of stomach. They all stood out when compared with the men and women of Winterfell.

Jon could see Bran talking with Jojen Reed. Jon's younger brother seemed to be of particular interest to young Jojen, for reasons Jon couldn't understand. The heir to Greywater Watch seemed to much too mature for a boy his age. His eyes seemed to hold some wisdom to them, like he knew secrets that no one else could. He seemed rather sickly and frail compared to Bran.

Meera seemed to be the same age as himself and Robb. She was a rather attractive girl, with green eyes like her brother, and brown hair. Sansa didn't show it, but she was most likely aghast at the sight of the Meera Reed. She was always gushing about the idea of a perfect lady, something Meera was the complete opposite of. The girl had arrived here dressed in the manner of a crannogwoman, wearing mainly brown and green colors. Her hair was short but well kept, and was flat chested, with an attractive figure. He probably would not be welcome to her, though.

Instead, Jon simply turned back to the others at the table with him. The men of the Neck seemed to get along well enough with the Northerns, making japs. Jon made talk with them, learning what their names were, what the Neck was like. More than a few of the crannogmen came up to him, wishing to speak with the Bastard of Winterfell. Some of them seemed to treat to regard him with a cautious respect, but they were few and far between. He couldn't understand it, though. He was the baseborn son of Eddard Stark, the shame of his family. What made him so special? He tried to be polite and not dwell on it.

When Howland Reed and father arrived in the Great Hall, Jon observed them, paying them respect as they mounted the steps to join their families. Once they were seated, the feast truly got underway. Jon would occasionally feed Ghost scraps. The white direwolf pup stayed quiet, not making a sound. When a much larger bitch came sniffing around, she had growled at Ghost. His pup had simply bared his teeth, not making a sound, to scare her off.

When the feast was nearing its end, Jon saw his father take Lady Catelyn out of the Great Hall, followed by Howland Reed. The feast was now over, and the Great Hall began to empty. Jon would retreat to his room for now. Ghost went along with him. He appreciated his young pup's company, often letting the pup sleep at the end of his bed. There was a bond between the two, Jon could feel it. It was like he could feel what the young direwolf pup felt, what his senses picked up, but it felt….weak. Jon found it strange.

Jon's room was located just a ways away, separate from his siblings. As he was getting his sleep wear out, there was a knock at the door. Half dressed and curious, Jon answered to find one of the household guards waiting for him. "Your father wishes to speak with you," he told him gruffly. He thought it queer that father would summon him at this late hour, and when he thought about it, he couldn't think of a reason why. So, he decided to ask.

"Why has he summoned me?"

"Lord Stark says there is a matter which concerns you," the guard answered. Jon tried to see if he was holding back something, but he couldn't tell.

"Let me get my clothes back on," he informed the guard, who nodded in affirmation, and then closed the door, reopening it once he was ready. As the guard led him down the corridors, Ghost following at his heels, Jon was beginning to feel uneasy. The fact he had not been told why he was summoned was troubling him. That was all he could think about, really. The why of the situation.

When they arrived, Jon found Lady Catelyn Stark and Howland Reed as well as his father. Eddard Stark was standing in the middle of the room, Howland was leaning against the wall while Lady Stark was sitting in a chair next to the desk father used for writing letters. She had one in her hands at the moment.

"Come in, Jon," father said softly.

Lady Catelyn started, looking directly at him. Jon wasn't sure what was wrong with her. She had never particularly liked him, but the way she was looking at him now made him uneasy. Howland Reed regarded Jon thoughtfully, looking him over. He was surprised to see them here, and couldn't help but wonder why his father hadn't dismissed them.

Father did dismiss the guard, and made to close the door after him. Ghost was alert and staring around, sensing the mood in the room. When father motioned for Jon to take a seat next to the window, he did so.

"What is the matter, Lord Stark?" he said, addressing him as the Lord of the North, and not as his father. However, rather than answer him, Ned Stark just simply stared at the boy, his lips parted slightly. The moment felt like it dragged on for perhaps an hour to Jon, but then father turned to Lady Stark.

"My Lady," he said calmly, but Jon could hear the unease underlining his tone. "The letter."

Catelyn Stark quickly stood up and took quick steps forward, passing the letter in her husband's hand. She gave Jon that look again, one he couldn't place, as she went back to take her seat. Howland Reed simply watched, his eyes betraying nothing.

Father, his face filled with regret, then handed the letter to Jon. Curious, he read it. And when he finished, it was as if his entire world had ended. He simply stared at the writing, trying to come to terms with it. He surprised himself when he found the courage to speak. "This isn't true," he said softly, unaware of his shaking hand, "it's just a lie." He looked to his father, hoping for a sign that he was right. "None of this is true, is it, father?"

It was Lord Stark's pained expression which told Jon otherwise. Jon felt his fists clench as his mouth went dry. "No," he said quietly at first, but his voice began to raise with every word, "no, no. It isn't….no, it can't be. I'm...I am the base born son of Lord Eddard Stark, of Winterfell. You're my father, not Prince Rhaegar. I am not trueborn, no, I'm a Snow. I-"

Twisting his face into a hideous grimace, Jon stood up, kicking over his chair and causing Ghost to back away, whimpering. "No, it can't be true! It's lies! It is all nothing but lies!"

Lord Stark came forward, his hands outstretched towards the boy. "Jon, I know this is hard for you to understand-"

"My whole life is nothing but a lie!" Jon snapped at him, very loudly, tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes. They were cold as they ran down his cheeks.

"Jon, listen to me," Lord Stark said firmly, placing his hands on John's shoulders, speaking as the lord of Winterfell. Despite his current mood, he didn't react to the gesture at all. He simply stared at his father's - no, his uncle's chest, refusing to acknowledge the man who he had looked up to his entire life, had believed himself to be the only stain on his honour. "I know this is hard for you, but Lyanna Stark," his voice practically broke at the mention of his mother's, giving him pause, gods, I killed my own mother to come into this world, Jon realised, "but your mother was not raped. I assure you, Rhaegar did not rape her. That is not what happened. Your father was not that kind of man."

"Then what did happen? How," Jon shot a glare at him, turning to look directly at his face, accusing him of something, before turning it to Catelyn Stark. She didn't shrink away from, not in the slightest. After everything she had put him through, to have some ounce of respect-

And once again, Jon realised something. "Why was she told first? Why not me?"

"She is my wife, Jon," his uncle told him, keeping his voice calm and low, "and the Lady of Winterfell. She had to know this." Lady Stark's face was hard set now, burning anger at him.

"Did you ever care about me?" Jon asked silently, looking to Ghost. The pup was laying on his stomach, tail tucked between his legs, and met Jon's gaze. He was still burning with a mixture of feelings, but right now, he just felt numb. His mouth was going dry and his heart was racing in his chest.

Lord Stark was quick to respond. "Of course," he said, "Jon, we are family. I have raised you as my own son."

"But why?"

His...uncle's face was briefly thoughtful for a few moments, and then he sighed. "Your mother did ask me to, but not because of...not what that letter says. She loved you, Jon."

Howland Reed spoke up at that moment. "Aye, that she did," he began to say, "but there is more to it than that."

Both uncle Eddard and Howland Reed told Jon the truth then, of how his mother was the Laughing Knight at the tourney of Harrenhal, how his father fell in love with her after that. When they ran off together, and how uncle Brandon had gone to King's Landing, demanding Jon's father "come out and die." How is grandfather, Lord Rickard Stark, had gone to King's Landing, only to be killed by his other grandfather, the Mad King. Neither Howland nor his uncle knew about the time Jon's parents had spent together, what they during their absence. It was a story Jon had heard before, but now, he was seeing it in a much different light.

"Were my parents married?" Jon asked. This, he wanted, had to know.

There was a deathly silence after Jon said. After a few tense moments, he had his answer.

"Your wet nurse did not lie when I asked her," Lord Stark admitted. "They were, Jon."


End file.
